


the end (our start of forever)

by leslie (yourunproblematic)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, POV Second Person, Pre-Slash, very brief mention of blood and alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 06:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14889077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourunproblematic/pseuds/leslie
Summary: When they stand next to each other for the last time, words aren't exchanged, but sentiments are curiously the same.





	the end (our start of forever)

**Author's Note:**

> uhh this is actually the first fic i have ever written for this fandom despite being in it for literal years, as well as the first i have ever posted on ao3. i am also not a native speaker of the english language, so if there is any mistake, please feel free to point out. forgive me for my cheesy title.
> 
> i am also kind of mad at myself that amidst the flurry of work, i managed to forget to post this on barricade day although it has been sitting in my draft folder since march. 
> 
> enjoy!

 

 

 

You look into his eyes, and see nothing but fear.

To the National Guards, he is but a god, blood-red flag and red blood on his hand, raised high like the sun—your breath hitches. He _is_ the sun.

Your hands itch for a brush and a palette, both long forgotten.

But now his light is tinged with a momentary darkness, caused by an emotion you thought would never be cast upon his face. He is ready to die for his Republic, to reunite with their friends on a heavenly barricade, to keep on fighting for a brave new world. Right now, however, balancing precariously on the line between life and death, he is afraid.

Can’t have him passing like this, you think, and step forward.

The words that roll from your tongue sound foreign, but sure in a way that you have missed. Soldiers turn their heads; he does, too. You find yourself in the center of attention, and you suddenly crave to disappear, to slip away, to drown yourself in a bottle and never resurface.

But he is looking at _you_ . You take a deep breath, and brave a step, then another, and feel the summer heat on your face, the heavy musk of bloodshed and sweat and battle surrounding, suffocating you. _Vive la Republique_ , you shout.  _I am one of them._ You, too, are ready.

You take your stand beside him. _Shoot us in one go._ And turning to him, you offer, a tad bit nervous: _May I?_

He takes your hand, squeezes it, and smiles. Amidst the light stumbling in from the window, he looks strangely human, touchable, _vulnerable._  Your pulse quickens, and your heart warms a little.

 

.

 

You look into his eyes, and see nothing but fire.

 _He will never know what it feels like to be aflame,_ you once told your two closest friends, the other two to your very own triumvirate, a lifetime ago. They hummed, thoughtful. You thought you were right.

Until now.

He stands up from the corner, his eyes, his essence, his entire being ablaze. It is strange, and you are intrigued, absorbed; you cannot tear your gaze away. You wonder if this is what he feels on a daily basis. You are no fool; anyone with the ability to observe may know how he watches you. This, though, screams of a cruel role reversal. You, helplessly starstruck, stare, as for the first time, he _soars._

He speaks, all cautiousness thrown to the wind, and you cannot bear to lose another friend, but you are selfishly relieved all the same because you are scared. Not of death, no; but the moment right before it, the bullets piercing your skin. You are afraid.

But then his words catch on, and a wave of something undefined washes over you. He might have appeared uncaring and cynical, but at this moment he declares himself one of your own and it is all that matters. He looks straight at you, clear and bright, and despite your fear and uncertainty, your heart flutters.

Plus, he might make good company for the eternal journey ahead.

So when he stands next to you for the last time, you take his hand, feel his newly-found confidence and courage, and your tumultuous and raging calms, just a little.

 

 

 


End file.
